


The Other Side of Time

by bluetoast



Series: Fae Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's first case after Sam's departure for Stanford would also be his last.  Running into a Fae catcher, Dean's taken out of the human realm into the next.  One of the members of Oberon's court, a fey named Orrick takes Dean into his home - and sets to making the young man his consort. However, first the powerful lord intends to cure Dean of the sorrows of his former life that have been growing like poison in his body since he was four.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of Time

Dean still had no idea how he ended up here, wherever here was. He'd been walking back to the motel from the bar. The distance had been short enough to not require driving and furthermore, the way things had been lately, Dean knew he'd been drinking a lot more than he should. The crazy thing was, he'd not had a lot to drink that night. A few beers and three shots, at best – he'd maybe been halfway to drunk. August had been a rough month for the Winchesters. Well, it'd at least been rough for him. Sam had run off to Stanford and Dad, he'd bailed and gone off on hunts of his own, leaving Dean completely alone. With his family gone, Dean had looked up a few things and found that people were disappearing all over this county in western Nebraska. He'd checked in with Pastor Jim, since he had no idea where Dad was every night. He just hoped the good Pastor could clean up the hunt he'd been trying to finish. Whatever had been taking the boys and men in that county had taken him too. When he discovered what said monster was, Dean couldn't believe it. Fairies. He wasn't sure how long he'd been here, his watch had stopped working – more than likely it broke when he was hauled into this other realm. It'd been at least a few days, as his captors had been feeding him and the others. 

Dean let out a long breath and looked around the circular room that was holding him captive. A ring of nine cages with some kind of light source in the center, Dean had given up on trying to break out of his prison fairly quickly, the forcefield on the front of this room preventing him from leaving and there wasn't even a vent for him to crawl into. Some other kind of power always held him at bay when one of the guards came in with food and drink. When he heard heavy footsteps coming towards the rooms, he didn't even look up. This had happened before and he'd heard plenty from the few Fae who'd already selected another victim from one of the rooms. He'd been passed over for being too scarred, too weird looking, too worn-out, too ugly. Strangely enough, the term that bothered him the most in descriptions was _too used._ It made him feel almost defective. Who were these... creatures to judge? The fuckers were probably immortal and had no right to go calling him worn-out. He kept his focus on the pattern of the marble floor, not wanting to look at _another_ contemptuous gaze. They were starting to remind him of Dad when he'd tell him off for not doing something right. 

“We weren't expecting you, Lord Orrick. We would have left a wider selection.” It's the reedy-voiced guard that Dean hates coming up the to room. If there was one fairy he wanted to pull the wings off of, it was that Tinkerbelle he always called Screech in his mind. He didn't even look up when he heard the footsteps stop. “Not much is left, although after your disinterest in the last several groups, we did not think it was pertinent to call you to have a look.”

“I don't want just anyone... humans are like us in the way that each one is unique. I haven't found one that can hold my interest for more than a moment. Most of the men brought here are either high strung youths with more poison in their veins than blood or are victims of any human stupid enough to summon one of us for help.”

“Well, m'lord, like I said...” Dean heard Screech pass his cell. “Not much left here worthy of your interest. You do make a valid point, perhaps we should raise our standards.”

The second set of footsteps stopped. “What's this one's story?”

Dean glanced upward and caught a flash of blueish-black hair and gray eyes before looking back to the floor. 

“Oh _him._ Honestly, the only reason we picked him up was because he was catching on to our activities. More than the usual person does.”

“You.” Orrick spoke directly into the room. “What's you're name?”

Dean didn't want to give the fairy the satisfaction.

“You heard Lord Orrick, on your knees and answer his question!” 

“I kneel to no one, my people stopped kowtowing to royalty over two hundred years ago.” It was the first thing that came to his mind, Dean didn't even know why he said it. He lifted his head and gave Screech an disgusted look. “My head's lower than yours is, it was good enough for the King of Siam, it should be good enough for you!” He knew they probably had no idea what he was talking about, but to his great surprise, the taller of the two Fae laughed. 

“That's quite clever.” Orrick gave him a thoughtful look, his eyes softening. “This one... he's different from others that have been here before. Vastly different, can't you see that?” 

“M'lord.. this one was half inebriated when we brought him here.” Screech was looking at Dean like he was a cockroach.

“Given your penchant for wine, Velgar, you have no right to pass judgment on the boy.” 

“I am merely stating that he's...” Velgar stood with his arms behind him, glaring at Dean. “His soul is a smelly, used thing that is of no value and honestly...”

“That is enough.” Orrick suddenly sounded dangerous. “He is different, not damaged goods. In fact, I believe this is quite serendipitous.” He glanced back down at Dean and gave him a smile that unnerved the hunter. “Clearly, you're only looking at his outward appearance.” He turned his gaze back to the guard. “I rather think you should be thanking me for taking him off your hands so you don't have to worry about finding him a placement through the lower channels. You know how heavily that is frowned upon. We are not like our cousins, the djinns and the wraiths who dwell in the mortal realm.”

The guard spluttered and went to work opening the forcefield of the cell. As the whatever it was slid away, Dean slowly rose to his feet, frowning at Orrick. Apparently this guy was someone a lot more important than Velgar here. Every fiber of his hunter instinct was telling him to fight or something, but once again, that weird fairy power thing that kept him from moving held him bound. When Orrick reached out his hand to set it against him, Dean reflexively flinched away from him.

“None of that!” The guard interjected, causing Orrick to turn.

“Do not tell him what to do.” He turned back to Dean. “Come with me, please.”

He blinked in surprise. “Not heard that word since I got here.” 

Orrick turned from the cell and Dean followed behind, stepping out of his cell for the first time, off-handedly wondering if there was any way he could get his boots back and he was glad that he had been wearing a pair of socks without holes. 

*

The Fae realm wasn't like Dean thought it would be, all flowers and crap. Oh, there were plenty of impressive gardens – impressive enough to make those botanical gardens he'd been drug to on field trips look like weed patches, but it was so much more than just gardens. It instead seemed to be full of rather Renaissance style buildings, lots arches and stained glass; crossed with technology that far outstripped that of the human world. Orrick's home was easily the largest house Dean had ever been in. From the outside, it'd reminded him of those majestic country homes he'd seen in those costume drama movies that he'd watched a couple times in place of reading the book. There were more of those marble floors, like back at his cell, but of higher quality, augmented with rugs that looked like they cost a small fortune and artwork that he couldn't tell the value of and he'd not even seen all of the house yet. He had a feeling it was completely furnished in such a manner. He'd been given a room that had wood floors of a deep mahogany color. The walls were done in some golden hue with ivory colored drapery. He didn't know what was worse, the fact it was the most opulent room he'd ever slept in and hated it, or the fact he could name the colors used in said room. The windows let out onto a balcony on the third story – the fucking _third_ story – overlooking what else, the gardens. Orrick was someone important in the upper echelons of the Fae society, so no one batted an eye at him bringing a human into his home. 

Perhaps the greatest shock to Dean was finding out that a whole three weeks had passed by in the human world. He wondered if his disappearance had kicked some common sense into Sam. No, no he wanted Sam to have the life he wanted but at the same time he wanted his family to stay together. That's what families were _supposed_ to do. He doubted that Sam would have bothered to help Dad to come and find him. Not that they ever would, any traces were long gone in his case. Dean wished he could go back home, but if he did, if he did – most likely he'd be locked up, or worse. Some hunters never liked the 'I don't remember' line when asked about encounters. His dad was one of those hunters. Dean wouldn't put it past John Winchester to rip answers out of him, son or not. Most likely he'd deem him a threat and quite frankly, the knowledge that his dad would kill him upon his return terrified him. His anger turned from his dad to Sam. He had been on a hunt that should have been for his brother, not him. The Fae, he'd been told, only took first born sons. Sam, as second born, wouldn't have been in any danger, hell Dad wouldn't either as a third born. He hoped Sam enjoyed the meals he'd gotten to eat while Dean had been in that prison, subsisting on fruit, bread and broth. He'd not had any real meat since that last dinner before he was taken.

Dean sat down on the bed of his room, his shoulders drooping. He could just imagine the fight his dad and Sam would have over this, if they ever did. _You walk out that door, you don't ever come back!_ At twenty-one years of age, all Dean wanted to do was curl up and have a good cry of self-pity. He'd been more or less abandoned by his family; odds were, they had never looked for him. Hell, if it weren't for the Impala left sitting in the motel parking lot, they'd probably think he'd run off on his own as well. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed his forehead. It was just a mess of confusion. He turned over onto his side and curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow against him. He would really like to go to sleep and find this has all been one very long, very strange dream.

*

Orrick wasn't too worried when Dean didn't come down for dinner. The young man had been through quite a bit and still needed time to adjust. If there was one thing Orrick was, it was patient. He knocked on the bedroom door and only opened it after Dean failed to respond. The room was dark, save for the lamp by the bed, where he could see the man hunched up, in a fitful sleep. He quietly crossed the room, sitting down next to him. The sheer misery Dean was feeling was practically pouring off of him and it make Orrick's heart twist in sympathy. He very gently set a hand on Dean's back, moving it in slow, soothing circles. 

Dean was far different than many of the humans he'd seen drug into this world. Many begged, most wept and almost all screamed to be released. Dean had fought back against the fey who'd captured him, even putting up one hell of a fight. In the end, it'd taken three guards to subdue him. Either Dean had figured fighting back was pointless, which it was, or he'd just accepted things for what they were and settled down. Even though time had passed, he could still see the fire in Dean's eyes. The look that said he wanted answers, an explanation, wanted _something._ Sitting here, touching him like this, gives Orrick a little more perception than he'd had of Dean previously. He felt abandoned, of all things. Abandoned by his family, who, from what the scouts had told him, were of two different opinions of what had happened. His brother believed he'd walked away from hunting, from his father and was starting his life over – and the little brat was completely unconcerned. His father, on the other hand, was angry at Dean's vanishing, but also believed he'd run off, just like his younger son. In true ironic fashion, Orrick also learned that the demon the Winchesters had been pursuing had run afoul of the god Loki and had been turned into cinders. Neither John or Samuel Winchester were searching for Dean and that one fact made Orrick want to scream. 

Orrick was brought back to reality when he heard Dean grunt in his sleep and then turn over to his front, giving him full access to his back. As tempting as it was, he kept up his work with one hand, loving the small grunt Dean gave as tension left his back and helped him to relax. He kept up his treatment for a while longer, before sliding his hand up into the man's hair, which had already started to grow out from that dreadful, spiky look it had in the pictures he'd seen when Dean first got here. He never would have thought the man's hair would be so soft. He leaned down and kissed Dean's temple before rising from the bed and leaving the man to his slumber. 

*

Dean was told he had free reign to explore the house while Orrick was at work. He could not leave the house, save for the gardens, but it was something. The more he saw of the place, the bigger it seemed. It also seemed odd to him that one fey would live in a house so massive with no other family. Then again, in those British dramas he'd seen on television a few times, those aristocratic men lived in massive country estates with little to no family, usually just a sibling or two. The relationship he was starting to have with the fey was an odd one. Orrick usually left early in the morning, long before Dean was awake. They had dinner together every night, but conversations were usually very stilled and short. Dean was still having issues with being here in the first place – opulent cage or not, the fact remained that he was more or less a prisoner. 

Many of the rooms were not in use, the furniture covered in linen sheets. He still hadn't figured out where Orrick's room was in this massive place, but he could find his way easily down from his own room to the dining room, the library and the back balcony that led down to the gardens. It was hard to gauge what season it was here, but judging from the full flush of green in the gardens augmented by the bright, bold colors of the flowers, Dean would have to guess summer. He sat down on a bench in the center of the garden, watching the massive fountain that was probably the only quasi-familiar thing he'd seen in the entire place. It was an almost perfect replica of a fountain he'd seen in Kansas City. Four horses representing four great rivers of the world, though he didn't know if they were the same rivers. It could be possible, although unlike the riders in the original, all of the riders in this fountain were Fey and the alligator had been replaced with what looked like a small dragon. 

Dean shifted his attention from the fountain to his hands. He'd never paid them much notice before, unless they were injured. The callouses that were so constant had worn down, leaving his fingers and palms smooth. The misaligned joints from the many breaks were straightening out, his nails were no longer bitten off and short, but even and rounded. His hands were starting to seem as alien to him as the rest of him was. It could be something of Orrick's doing, as the fey seemed to have a slight obsession with running his thumbs over the back of Dean's hands after dinner every night. However, there'd been more changes than just his hands. Scars were fading away into nothing, his back seemed to have less pain in than normal, he'd even noticed his walk changing; but that could just be due to the fact he was no longer wearing heavy boots all the time. There were other changes too, like his lack of needing to shave. His face had remained hairless and smooth all during his tenure in the cell and while he'd been here. No whiskers, no hint of a beard at all. His hair had gotten to a shaggy stage that made him wonder if he should ask for a pair of scissors or just let it keep growing. He chuckled and ran a hand through it. “Least it's not curly.” He stood up and headed back to the house. The staff left him alone for the most part, it was getting late and if he wasn't properly 'dressed' for dinner, they tended to look at him like he was a bug they'd like to squash.

**

It took two weeks before Orrick managed to give Dean a back-rub while he was awake. When he'd first found out about the ones taking place while he'd been sleeping, Dean had been horrified. That had been four days ago and just setting his fingertips to the man's shoulders, Orrick could already feel how much tension had returned. All those hours of coaxing out the pain, the anxiety, the worries and the great burden Dean had been carrying for seventeen years had started to pile up again. He kept his touch almost feather light, trying not to notice the tense look on Dean's face. “I regret that I have not been here much, Dean. Perhaps it would have been better if I had stayed home for a while.”

Dean grunted. “I don't see what difference that would make.” He let his shoulders fall, keeping them hunched up was just to painful.

“I feel as if I've neglected you.” Orrick sighed. “That was not my intent.” He started rubbing down Dean's back in small circles with his fingertips. “I suppose I also shouldn't be greatly surprised you don't want to join me in the dining room for meals as of late.”

“It's nothing personal.” Dean closed his eyes, resting his head against his arms. Who'd have thought a straight back chair could be this comfortable? “It's just...”

Orrick's hand stilled between the man's shoulder blades. “Yes?”

“I don't want to get anyone in trouble over this...” 

“Dean.” He frowned, feeling the tension starting to build again. “I know that you may not be aware of this, but all the pain, all the discomfort, every negative feeling you have about yourself and in your life is what is causing this horrific back problem of yours. I am trying to help, but I can only do so much.” He started rubbing again, getting a little deeper. “Tell me what's wrong, please.” 

“Just because I'm human doesn't make me a barbarian.” 

“Who in the world called you such a thing?” Orrick frowned. 

“That's the thing... no one said it... but I heard someone think it.” Here was another problem Dean was starting to have. He'd been picking up random thoughts and emotions from the fey in the house and it was seriously starting to freak him out. Not to mention the ones he'd picked up from Orrick seemed impossible to believe. Thoughts of comfort, of protection and of love. There was no way the fey could...

“Why would you think such things, Dean?” He slid his hands down his spine. “That I do not care about you?”

“Why should you?” Dean wanted to get up, but he'd promised he'd stay in this chair until Orrick was finished with his back. “You don't know me.”

“And I could say the same of you, Dean.” He set one hand on Dean's shoulder and moved the heel of the other under the man's shoulder-blade, working out a knot. “Perhaps if we both made an effort to get to know one another, you could... reassess your thinking on my feelings towards you.”

“Can't make any promises there.” 

“As I don't expect you to.” Orrick sighed and kept massaging Dean's back. “No one can be expected to feel a certain way because someone else says so.”

He let out a snort. “You've never met my father.”

The fey's hand stilled, feeling the jolt of pain in the man's back. “May I ask a simple question?”

“Sure.” Dean heard Orrick open something and the comforting scent of lavender filled his nostrils. A moment later, the hands returned and he felt himself relax a little more.

“When you were young, what did you want to do when you were an adult?” 

“What do you mean? I wanted to be a hunt...”

“No.” Orrick pressed one hand firmly against Dean's spine. “That's not true. That is what your father convinced you was your job. What were _your_ dreams? The ones you were forced to sacrifice time and time again, with no one caring that it was killing you.”

Dean wanted him to start moving his hands again. He wet his lips and thought back, back to the day that dad told him what was expected of him, that utterly horrible day when he was eight. He could still see the bright gold star, the first and only gold star he could ever remember gracing any of his school assignments. “I wanted to be a fireman.” It sounds so hokey, so pathetic in his twenty-one year old voice. 

Orrick could have wept. He only caught a flash of the memory in Dean's mind, but that mere glance was agony. He could see the picture and one paragraph written by a boy who'd put some effort into the assignment and he could see the torn paper and gleaming sticker lying in the wastepaper basket while John Winchester yelled at his oldest. “I think you would have made an excellent fireman, Dean.” He went back to giving the man a massage. “You've always wanted to help people.”

“Can't do that anymore, I suppose.” 

“That's not necessarily true.” Orrick said, his voice full of comfort. “I have no intention of keeping you locked up in my home, Dean.” He smiled sadly. “It's just for the present time.”

“I know.” Dean let out a low groan as a knot in his back released itself. “You're pretty good at that.”

“Thank you.” His smile became more certain. “Has anyone ever told you that your back is covered in freckles?”

“No.” Dean was somewhat amused. “Though I think there might be a few chicken pox scars back there as well.”

“How did you manage to scratch those?” 

“They're all in areas I could reach at the time.” Dean thought for a moment. “Probably still can...”

Orrick nodded, sliding his hands down the length of the man's back one more time and then caught sight of two long marks running perfectly parallel to each other between his shoulder blades. He smiled at the sight. Contrary to what humans believed, the Fae did not have their wings out all the time. Outside of flight, the only time a fey ever showed their wings was with their mate. The two long marks were a sign. Now that so much tension was leaving Dean's body, under the surface, his wings were forming. If his wings were forming, then the rest of the change was also well underway. 

“Is something wrong?” Dean opened his eyes and looked back at Orrick.

“No, everything is just fine.” 

**

Dean wondered if he was going mad. The random thoughts he'd been picking up were starting to become more and more frequent. He was going to have to ask Orrick if there was a way to control what he heard and what he didn't. He'd been in this world for nearly four months and things were getting stranger daily. His back had started itching for some reason as of late, right in that spot between his shoulder blades where he couldn't reach it. Water helped soothe it a great deal and Dean sank down to chin the wonderfully warm water. There was another change that was a little worrisome to him and embarrassing or not, he would like an answer to this most recent change. He'd have to talk to Orrick tonight during their – whatever you wanted to call the hour the fey massaged what he called the 'pain' from his body. Dean wasn't entirely sure how the massage was supposed to do that, but so many things were going on with him, he didn't think he'd question it right now. Besides, the massage was wonderful. Particularly since Orrick had finally started working on his scalp. That just felt _amazing_ every time he did it. He picked up the bucket that was next to the bathtub, filled it with water and poured it over his head. “Much better.” He set the bucket back down and pulled the plug.

Dean wrapped a towel around his waist and headed to the wardrobe in his room. When he looked in the mirror these days, he sometimes had trouble recognizing himself. While he was still as muscled as he'd been as a hunter, his body had taken on a more toned appearance, most noticeably in his face where his cheekbones had suddenly become more prominent. He mussed at his hair absently as he pulled on a pair of sleep pants. He didn't know what Orrick was going to do tonight, perhaps the two of them could just talk – or maybe he could finally pay the fey back for the back-rubs. That'd be fair, wouldn't it? Try as he could, there wasn't any denying the fact that Dean knew Orrick genuinely cared about him. If his intentions had been just to have a pet human around, he'd have been using him since the day he was brought here from the holding cell. Dean wasn't sure if he could quite make the jump to admit he was starting to wish for more than a massage, a few soft kisses and kind words. He wasn't going to deny that he wanted more, wanted Orrick.. but thinking about it and actually doing it were two vastly different things. 

He was on his way to hang up his towel and finish preparing for bed when a horrible pain ripped up his body and drove him to his knees. It felt as if someone had sliced his back open twice and he was nearly blinded by the agony. What had happened? He could see the cool tile of the bath just a few feet away, surely he could crawl that distance. He wasn't sure how far he made it before even his knees succumbed to the pain and he sprawled out on the rug. Something warm and wet was sliding down his back, a substance that felt like blood. There was also a strange weight that hadn't been there a moment ago. He didn't want to give into the pain, he really didn't... but all he could do was lay on that incredibly soft rug and try to breathe. 

Orrick had been slightly worried when Dean hadn't responded to his knock. Much like the first night he'd come into his room, he looked into the room with some reservation. The lights were still on, the wardrobe gaped open – Dean always had to sleep with the doors closed – and as he came into the room and could see over towards the bath, he drew in a sharp breath. Dean was lying on the rug, no doubt it in a great deal of pain, with a great pair of feathery wings spread out from his back. No wonder he'd not responded to his call. He went over to him and set a hand on his head. “Dean? Dean can you hear me?”

“Hurts... what...” Dean whimpered. “Sorry about the rug...”

“Ssh...” He gave him a swift kiss on the top of the head. “Just try and relax, all right?” He pulled the towel Dean had dropped up and started to clean the area where the flesh had torn. “Just keep your breathing nice and even.”

Dean let out a long breath, whimpering still. “I don't know...” He glanced to his side, frowning. “Where'd that come from?”

“The wing?” Orrick was mentally chastising himself for not telling Dean about this earlier. 

“Yeah.” He frowned. “Holy shit... that's... that's not me, is it?”

Orrick stilled the hand that was cleaning. “Is...” He sighed. “Yes, Dean. That's your wing.” 

“I... how...” He curled inward, trying to will the image away.

“I should have told you about this. It happens to all humans who stay here eventually.” He was glad there wasn't much blood. “Don't worry, they aren't always going to be out like this. They just ruptured, like all fey's wings do. Think of it as a second sort of puberty, if you will.”

Dean shook his head. “Not that... can deal with the wings... I think... it's...”

Orrick put the towel down and gently picked Dean up, so the man was leaning against him. “Talk to me, Dean. What's wrong, if you're not upset about having wings?”

“Don't... scared... flying.” 

“I see.” He stroked the back of Dean's head. “You don't have to fly anywhere, Dean. Plenty of fey don't fly, despite the wings. I'm not to keen on it myself at times.”

Dean let out a weak chuckle. “Still hurts.” 

“It only hurts the first time.” He smiled and helped Dean sit down. “Though I don't think you'll be able to get them into hiding tonight.”

“Good thing I sleep on my stomach.” He felt a little better as Orrick started to rub his shoulders.

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I'm going to get something to clean you up a little better.” He stood and went to the bath, returning a moment later. He settled back down behind Dean with a cloth and a bowl of warm water. “Before I start this, I should warn you that wings are... very sensitive to touch.”

“Doesn't that create a problem with the wind?” Dean relaxed his shoulders, the pain in his back eased a little.

“Well, not all of the wing is sensitive.” Orrick set the cloth against the fleshy area where the wing met Dean's back, drawing a soft hiss from the man. “Plus, one usually has clothes on when flying.” He kept cleaning the area, glad the base had already stopped bleeding, definitely a sign that the healing time would be short. 

“I... think I can tell what you mean.” Dean bit back a groan at the feeling flooding through him. He was going from being in blinding pain to being turned on. 

Orrick wet the cloth and rung it out before starting to wipe the small spatter of blood off the feathers. “They're beautiful wings, Dean.” He gently brushed the cloth against the upper ridge, careful to not knock any of the down out of place. Now that most of the blood and sinews that had been holding them in was cleaned off, he could have a proper look at them, a wonderful ivory shade rimmed in jade green, almost the exact shade of the man's eyes – and he'd not gotten a look at the front of the wings yet. “The back isn't nearly as sensitive as the front.”

“I think I can handle it.” He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. 

“I do not have to be at court for a few days, I can stay with you until you manage to put your wings back by yourself.” He was trying not to think about the tight feeling in his groin. 

“That sounds...” Dean groaned loudly as Orrick slid the cloth to the front side of the wing. “Oh shit...”

“Good?” 

“More than good.” He leaned back against the taller man. “Feels wonderful.”

He kissed the side of Dean's face in reply and returned to cleaning. “Don't have to much more to clean, there's not much spatter on the front.”

“Can I ask you something?” Dean had closed his eyes and was just trying to relax into the tender touches.

“Of course, Dean.” He wet the cloth again.

Dean turned around slowly, rather afraid he'd overbalance due to the wings. “May I kiss you? Properly kiss you?”

The cloth fell into the bowl and Orrick did his best not to show surprise. “Do you... I mean...”

“I'm starting to think you have a habit of talking to much.” Dean set a hand on the back of the fey's head and pulled him into a kiss. Having never kissed a guy before, Dean wasn't too sure if it was any different than kissing a girl – Orrick's lips certainly were soft enough to be thought of as girlish, but then so were Dean's, as he'd been told several times. 

Orrick was using all of his willpower not to take control of the kiss as he was longing to do. He opened his lips under Dean's, letting the man's tongue slip inside his mouth. He wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled Dean into his lap. His own wings were straining at his back, longing to be free, to be seen, to touch the wings of the man kissing him. He broke the kiss, trying to slow his breathing. “Dean...”

“Orrick...” Dean rested his head against the fey's shoulder, need was starting to make him feel weak. “Please... I think...”

He let out a soft groan and ran his fingers through Dean's hair. “I need you to be sure, Dean. Absolutely sure. If we do this, you can never return to the human realm. You'll be bound to this one forever.”

Dean let out a very weak laugh and raised his head to gaze into Orrick's gray eyes with his green ones. “I don't want to go back. I want to stay here with you.” 

He smiled in response and kissed Dean's forehead. “Don't be scared...” One moment later, he was leaning over Dean as they lay on the man's bed. “I don't want you to ever be afraid of me.” He kissed Dean's neck and started trailing kisses down the man's chest. “Don't worry about doing anything – I just want you to lie there and let me love you.”

“Doesn't seem...” Dean's retort was cut off by another kiss, deeper than the first one had been. When this one ended, he was almost breathless. 

“You'll understand soon, love.” Orrick whispered against his ear. “For the time being, I give and you take. It's time for you to accept that sometimes, it's okay to take without giving back.” He nuzzled his neck. “Though I'm getting plenty as well.” The next few moments were lost in a tumble of clothes being removed, pillows tossed aside and bed-covers thrown back. Orrick pressed his lips to Dean's loving the skin on skin contact. He'd wanted this, dreamed of this, hoped for and now, now it was here. He set one hand on the side of Dean's face as he kissed him, setting his other hand flat against the man's wing, stroking the area. He hunched his shoulders and a moment later, his own wings spread out from his back. He was aware of one of Dean's hands threading through his hair and the other resting on his hip as he broke off the kiss. “I want to see you...” He pulled back to kneel over the man again, smiling. “So beautiful...” He ran a hand down his side, the tips of his fingers making contact with the wing. 

Dean stared up at Orrick through heavily lidded eyes, breathing hard. The fey now had wings of his own – but were vastly different from his own. Orrick's wings were bat-like in shape, but nothing like that in appearance, instead they were opalescent in color and the flesh was strangely smooth and even, a fine woven cloth of muscles and skin placed upon his lover's back. He slid his hand down to the fey's neck. “So are you.” 

Orrick chuckled softly and continued his exploration of Dean's body. He was rewarded with a light giggle as his fingers traced a scar under the man's rib. “Not all of these have faded yet, I see. A few more months and they'll be but a memory.” 

Dean hesitantly slid his hand up the fey's back, reaching the small area where the wings were situated, drawing a soft gasp from his lover. “Turnabout's fair play, right?”

He chuckled and set his forehead against Dean's. “I thought I told you to just enjoy this.”

“Well, have to be defiant somehow, couldn't forgive myself if I wasn't.” Dean grinned up at him. “'Sides, one thing I know I'm not, and that's lethargic in bed.”

“Famous last words, Dean...” He slid a hand down onto the man's thigh. “Famous last words.”

“You prefer I change?” He rubbed the area on Orrick's back again. “I can try, if you want.”

“No.” He leaned down and kissed Dean's neck. “I love you just as you are.” He gently tugged Dean's leg to the side and drew in a sharp breath. It was there, the narrow slit that told him just how much the man's body was changing into that of a fey consort. “I take it you are aware of this...” He slid one finger up it, loving the way Dean's back arched in response and his arms fell to his sides.

“I... uh huh.” He wet his lips. “Was going to ask... but uh...”

Orrick chuckled. “Suppose I should have known it had started when I noticed the marks on your back a few days ago. Another warning I forgot...” He was cut off as Dean grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him again.

Dean sucked on the fey's bottom lip for a moment and then released it. “What did I tell you about talking too much?”

“If that's your form of chastising me, I won't stop doing it.” He nudged Dean's legs further apart with his hips, the tip of his straining cock brushing against the man's entrance. “If that's all right with you, that is.”

Dean let out another groan as Orrick teased him. “This gonna hurt?”

“No, sweet.” He leaned down setting his hands on either side of Dean's face and lowered his wings so they rested against his lovers. The sensation caused the man to gasp and Orrick drove his cock inside of Dean, letting out a gasp of his own as pleasure raced through him as he started to fuck Dean slowly. “No pain, is there?”

Dean shook his head, instinctively wrapping his legs around Orrick's waist, drawing the man deeper into him. “Seems like it should...”

“I know, love.” He rested on his elbows as he thrust into the man, drawing another groan from him. “Part of it is from you being in this world. Many don't accept the changes, that's why so few humans make it as far into our world as you have, Dean.” He shivered as another wave of pleasure shot up his wings. “You accepted being here, accepted me... so your body prepared itself for me.” He kissed Dean's neck, right by his ear. “And only me... that's why it's painless, Dean.” He bit at the man's skin, leaving a mark. “It's also why this binds you to my world.” He started to move faster, taking Dean's hips in his hands.

“Wouldn't want to leave.” Dean panted. “Last few months... best of my life.” He let out a moan as Orrick filled him completely, his own hard cock being rubbed between them, increasing his pleasure. “Mean that.”

The fey kissed his forehead and started to fuck him harder. “Going to take such good care of you.” He breathed hard against his ear. “I want you to have more than just months, Dean. Want you to have years, decades...” He pounded against his lover. “Centuries, even...”

Dean felt his wings curl outward as the orgasm ripped through his body, rather overwhelmed by coming both inside and out. He felt Orrick give one more hard thrust into him before he came as well, filling him completely. 

Orrick rested against his lover as he felt his cock spasm and release another jet of come. He was aware that Dean's legs had released him, but their ankles were still hooked together. The knowledge that the two of them could have just conceived a child was on the surface of his mind and he felt Dean's hand stroking his side as he shuddered, still not completely spent.

“This how it's supposed to be?” Dean was feeling exhausted – perhaps the two of them could work on his stamina in bed this weekend. 

“Yes.” Orrick let out a groan as his body released the last of his seed and Dean's inner muscles started to relax to release him. “More complex things I have yet to explain.”

“Sounds like we've got a lot of time.” Dean let out a soft whimper as his lover pulled out of him and laid down next to him. 

“Not tonight.” He pulled Dean into his arms, resting the man's head against his chest. “Tonight I just want to be with you – if we just follow instincts, is that all right?”

“Think so.” He closed his eyes and snuggled against his lover. “Mind if I take a nap first?”

“Of course not.” Orrick rested one hand on the side of Dean's face and wrapped his other arm around his waist. “I could use a rest myself.”

**

Orrick returned home from his court duties in somewhat high spirits. It always seemed that way now, knowing that Dean was waiting for him at the end of every day. While his beloved sometimes accompanied him, it was a rare occasion. Dean hated to be the center of attention and well, with his appearance, usually that proved to be difficult. So few people could look at him and believe he'd once been fully human. Orrick still had to remind himself of that from time to time. As he nudged open the door of Dean's room, a quick perusal told him that he wasn't there. A cool draft brushed against his cheek and he had his answer. He crossed the room and peered out to the balcony, smiling. “Enjoying the snow?”

Dean smiled over at him. “It's... different here.” 

Orrick came outside as Dean opened the blankets he had wrapped around himself to let his lover join him in the warmth. He quickly slid beside him and pulled the blankets back around them, so Dean was sitting in his lap. “You've always liked the snow, haven't you?”

“Yeah.” He settled his head in the crook of Orrick's neck, smiling. “How was your day?”

“Unusually pleasant. Winter tends to make most of the court leave for a warmer climate, so not many political things are left for another time.” He idly stroked Dean's hair. “And your day?”

“Not bad – spent most of it reading and writing again.” He chuckled. “Never thought I could get used to doing that most of the time.”

“Well, you are the only hunter the Fae has ever caught. Our knowledge of the other creatures that exist in your world have been left forgotten for many years.”

“I'm just glad I can do something to help.” Dean sighed. “Though I'm sorry I can't help in a lot of areas.”

“If you're referring to demons, do not worry. No demon can set foot in this realm, or if they did, it'd be rather...” He paused, thinking. “I believe the best way to describe it would be to throwing an elephant into a lake infested with piranhas.”

Dean shuddered at the thought, trying put out the knowledge of how violent the Fae could get. “Now there's something you could lose sleep thinking about.”

Orrick laughed and kissed the top of Dean's head. “Don't worry, I've told you countless times, you're safe here.” He brushed his thumb along his cheekbone. “I think you're getting more freckles.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, being how you're the only one who's ever counted them all, if anyone would be aware, it would be you.”

The fey smiled at that, kissing Dean's forehead and sliding his hand to rest on the man's stomach. “And how is our little one?”

Dean smiled and set his hand over Orrick's. “I think she's trying to decide if she likes kicking or punching better.” 

Feeling the movement beneath his palm made Orrick's smile strengthen. “She's healthy child, that much I know.”

“That's always the important thing.” Dean snuggled against his beloved. “Few more weeks and she'll be here with us.”

“Yes.” Orrick closed his eyes contentedly. It'd been months since he felt misery from Dean, something he was glad was long, long gone. The babe only made his sorrow vanish more and more. “She'll be with us before this snow melts, I believe.”

Dean closed his eyes, wincing faintly at a particularly hard kick. “I think our girl might follow me in terms of bad timing and arrive sooner than that.” He felt Orrick's hand move lower to rest on the underside of his belly. “I was born in the middle of a blizzard.”

“No, I think she'll stay put for a few more days, at least.” He kissed Dean's forehead. “Have I told you I love you today?”

“Not since breakfast, which is also the last time I told you.” He let out a long breath as Orrick started to rub his back with his other hand. “Now that feels wonderful.”

The fey smiled and kept rubbing. “Must be why I do it constantly.” He brushed some snowflakes from Dean's hair. “Promised I would always take care of you.” He felt a hard jab against his palm. “And you too, little one. I'm going to take good care of you as well."


End file.
